I was reading a chapter from “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” to the kids a few days ago when it occurred to me that my kids are quite lucky to have a seriously dramatic lady for a Mom. They have never heard a story read to them without an over the top, probably oscar worthy (just sayin’) performance to go along with the reading.
I continued reading the chapter to them, keenly aware that my Faun voice and accent was not anything at all like my Edmund voice. Not being smug or anything, but I pretty much rock at creating distinct voices and postures for each character. Seriously, though, no smug. I’ve gotten great feedback from my Mom.
By the end of the chapter, I was happy with the character work I had done with the White Witch and certain that the kids were going to plead desperately with me to continue with another chapter. I closed the book and my eyelids, inhaled deeply and waited for the wailing to begin.
“Mom?”
“Yes?” deep sigh so they see their court actor is fatigued from the exhausting work of such grand display.
“Can I have an apple?”
“An apple?” my eyes pop open and my face is one big question mark.
“I wanted one while you were reading, but I didn’t want to interrupt your talking, so I waited and waited, and I almost forgot that I wanted an apple, but then I remembered, and then I forgot, but then, right when you finished reading, I thought, ‘What was it that I wanted? Oh, yeah. An apple.’ So, can I have an apple?”
“Did you maybe want me to read another chapter while you eat your apple?”
“Uh, no. It’s okay. I mean, I like it, but I think I just want to go ahead and get started on math. With an apple.”
I bet Doris Day never had to overcome this kind of dismissal.